


Game Face

by xxx_cat_xxx



Series: Whumping Tony Stark [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, POV Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Character, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 04:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/pseuds/xxx_cat_xxx
Summary: Tony slumps completely once they are out of the building, all his bravado gone with the audience. The winter air hits like a slap on their faces. Steve lets him glide down next to the exit, watching when he pulls his knees to his chest and lets his head rest on them with a silent moan.“How long has this been going on?” he asks quietly.---Tony & Migraine & Steve.





	Game Face

**Author's Note:**

> This one is whump for whump´s sake, don’t expect any deeper meaning or, god forbid, anything resembling a storyline. My only excuse is that for whatever weird reason I crave migraine fics whenever I have a headache. I also made a Tony vs. Migraine resource list [here](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/post/181559757267/tony-vs-migraine-master-story-list) for the same reason.
> 
> Set a while before Civil War, naturally. Pain and detailed descriptions of vomit ahead.

It´s a coincidence that he sees it - Tony had been a bit unsteady on his feet the whole evening, but they’d all blamed it on the copious amounts of champagne floating around the gala, and Tony with his fancy sunglasses and the ever-bright showman smile had managed to dazzle them all.

It´s only when one of the photographers takes a close-up with a flash, and he staggers into the table behind him, momentarily pressing his hands to his temples in a short but visibly agonized gesture, that something clicks in Steve’s head.

“You could have simply said a word,” he hisses into the engineer´s ear, still smiling brightly at the reporters, while he leads him out of the back door.

It´s a testament to just how awful Tony must be feeling that he doesn’t even try to resist. Instead, he leans heavily on Steve as soon as they are away from the crowd, swaying slightly like a drunk man, and Steve doesn’t know if that´s due to vertigo or because his eyes are squeezed shut so tightly that he can´t actually see where he´s walking.

Tony slumps completely once they are out of the building, all his bravado gone with the audience. The winter-night air hits like a slap on their faces. Steve lets him glide down next to the exit, watching when he pulls his knees to his chest and lets his head rest on them with a silent moan.

“How long has this been going on?” he asks quietly.

“Few hours?” Tony replies, his voice weak. "Honestly, it feels like years.”

“Why did you even come to the Gala?” Steve tries not to scold, but it´s no use, the man is a walking disaster.

“’m the one who’s hostin´ it. Should show my face or not?” Tony slurs.

“Ok.” Steve settles down next to him, laying out the next steps in his head. “What about your meds? Did you take any when it started?”

“Forgot them – in – “

The rest of the sentence ends in a gulping swallow. Steve knows all too well what comes next, months spent with Tony and his own experience back in a different life, decades ago, having taught him everything there is to know about a migraine.

He gently pushes Tony’s sweaty head between his knees and pats him on the back just when his body shudders and the first retch works its way up his throat. Foul-smelling bile drops on the ground, followed by a gush of liquid. Tony draws a shaky breath, then his muscles tense up under the thin suit jacket and he vomits again.

Steve´s gaze is drawn to his hands, clenched into fists, the nails digging into the soft skin of his fingers in an attempt to control the pain. There are slightly older marks all over the back of his hand, and something in Steve´s chest goes tight when he realizes that this is how Tony has gotten himself through the night until now.

When the heaves finally stop, he is breathless and dizzy, listing limply to one side.

“Hey,” Steve says, softer now against his will, grabbing Tony around the waist and keeping him steady. “You´re gonna be okay.”

The other man just lets out a breath through his nose, lips firmly pressed together. He swallows hard, visibly trying not to be sick again.

“You feeling any better?” Steve finally asks, hoping against better experience that throwing up might have helped ease the pressure.

“Hmm,” Tony grunts. “Fresh air´s good.”

Steve is sure he is lying, because his face, if anything, is even paler than before.

“Can you stomach some water? Painkillers?”

Tony shakes his head minutely, “Won’t keep ´em down.”

“Yeah, I thought so…” Steve mumbles. He settles for keeping a stabilizing hand between the other man´s shoulder blades while he works on calming down his breathing.

“Enough of the self-pity. Need to go back in,” Tony mutters after a while, using Steve´s shoulder to push himself up. He’s so weak on his legs that he barely makes it upright.

“Come on, Tony, please be sensible.” Steve protests. “You aren’t going back to the Gala like this. I know you don´t care what the tabloids will say, and there´s no need to keep up pretences in front of the team, after all we´ve been through…”

He trails off, but he knows that Tony understands what he means. He is honestly expecting a fight, and for a moment, resistance lights up on Tony´s face, more a reflex to being told what to do than anything else. But then his features slacken, exhaustion taking over, and he stumbles down again.

“This is ridiculous,” he huffs.

“We should call a car,” Steve replies calmly.

“I’m gonna puke again if I look at my phone. And you don’t even know how to use it,” Tony rebuts hoarsely.

“Don’t you have this talking robot voice with you?”

Tony gives him a look that would have been a glare any other time, but his eyes are unfocused and dull from the pain. It scares Steve more than any amount of anger would have.

“I can handle the phone, Tony. Try me.”

It takes him a bit longer than it would have others – who got the stupid idea to invent phones without tangible keys, anyways? - but soon enough Steve has Natasha on the call, who tracks down Happy, who shows up with a limousine less than five minutes later.

Once in the car, Tony sort of melts into the cushions. He turns away from the window, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow. The streetlights illuminate his face periodically, the skin grey from exertion, lines of pain and fatigue engraved into it.

Tony looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, and now that Steve thinks about it, he can’t remember a single team breakfast in recent times for which the engineer showed up with a bedhead and sleepy eyes as he used to. Either he was wide awake, drinking his fourth cup of coffee that morning and vanishing back to the workshop as soon as he got the opportunity, or he simply didn’t show up at all. Steve makes a mental note to have a word with him about healthy sleeping habits, at some point of time when he stops looking like he´s just returned from the dead.

Tony doesn’t move for a while, and Steve starts to hope that he’s fallen asleep at last. But soon enough they take a sharp turn and his shoulders hitch forward with an audible gulp.

“You’re going to be sick?” Steve asks.

Tony only gives a groan, clasping a trembling hand over this lips.

Happy pulls to a stop at the sidewalk, opening the door, and Steve has to grip Tony by the waist to stop him from toppling out of the car. He can feel the other man’s stomach muscles contracting under his fingers when he heaves.

Tony only brings up strings of bile, but the dry heaving doesn’t stop for long. Steve catches him whimper involuntarily. He thinks back to the time before the serum, wincing in sympathy.

Steve’s seen Tony with migraines before, but typically there was someone to hand him over to before it got this bad, and he is sure that the other man never let his guard down like this in front of Steve before. He has no idea what he´s done that Tony lets him be there for him now, whether it was a conscious decision or an unfortunate combination of circumstances. The man´s motives are an eternal mystery to him. But he doesn´t really care, not right now at least.

“Let´s get you home,” he says quietly when Tony is reduced to panting and coughing weakly.

He carefully pulls him back into the car, closing the door as quietly as possible, and then offers him a water bottle, but the engineer´s eyes are screwed shut again. He slumps bonelessly into Steve’s side, shaking ever so slightly.

Steve hesitates for a moment. Then he rests his arm around Tony loosely to keep him from hitting the interior of the car once it starts moving again. His fingers find the pressure point in the other man´s palm and start to push into it, it´s an automatism, something Bucky used to do for him long, long ago. Tony´s body seems to relax against him the tiniest bit.

“T‘nks, Spangles,” Steve thinks he can hear him mumble.


End file.
